Just now digging into Jonathan Lethem's newest novel Chronic City. What a delight. This could turn out to be his best book yet. And it's rich in neuropharmacological metaphor to boot.
"He had the waitress refill his gallon-sized Coke, too, then, as our afternoon turned to evening, washed it ll down with black coffee. In our talk marijuana confusion now gave way to caffeinated jags, like a cloud bank penetrated by buzzing Fokker airplanes. Did I read The New Yorker? The question had a dangerous urgency. It wasn't any one writer or article he was worried about, but the font."
